


My Liege Lord: Timestamps

by jhoom



Series: My Liege Lord [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: King!Dean, M/M, bodyguard!cas, king!cas, knight!cas, medieval!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom
Summary: Various scenes from Dean and Castiel's lives.





	1. Training

**Author's Note:**

> This series is a collection of short timestamps for my larger story "My Liege Lord." Although you might not need to have read MLL in order to understand what's going on, I'd highly recommend it. Tags will be updated as I go as new timestamps are written. There's no schedule for when I'll update this, but when it happens it happens. 
> 
> If you'd like to suggest timestamps, please send them to me VIA TUMBLR [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com/ask) or else I will completely forget about them. 
> 
> (As a side note, I'm thrilled to be able to come back into this AU and play around with the characters some more ^-^)
> 
> This first timestamp takes place after MLL when Castiel and Dean are married.

Castiel easily dodged Dean’s attack. It was sloppy at best, and he’d put too much of his weight behind the blow. When he didn’t land it, he staggered forward in an attempt to catch his balance, but not in time to prevent himself from landing in the dirt. 

“Fuck,” Dean hissed as he pushed himself up. He’d long given up trying to dust himself off; after six such falls already, it was a fruitless effort. “You ever going to  _ let _ me hit you? Build up my confidence and all that?”

“I was told kings already have an abundance of over confidence and not to indulge yours.”

“You and Bobby ganging up on me?” Dean asked incredulously. “My own uncle and my own husband? That’s gotta be some kind of treason right there.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at Dean’s dramatics, but he couldn’t quite keep a smile from pulling at the corner of his lips. Try as he might, there was no ignoring the thrill he felt every time Dean referred to him as his husband. 

“Again,” he said, raising his wooden practice sword and getting into an appropriate stance. As much as possible, Castiel tried to model the correct forms for Dean. 

“Ugh,  _ fine _ .” Dean tried to mimic Castiel, but again his footing was off. 

“Put your feet wider apart,” Castiel said. Dean barely moved them at all. “Wider. Wider. Wider—” Giving up, Castiel abandoned his own position to come over and stand behind Dean, nudging his legs into the correct spot and fixing his grip on the sword. “You’ll never get better if you don’t listen to me,” he scolded.

“Well then, maybe I should give up.”

Dean was by no means unfit and was clearly frustrated by his lack of progress. He’d been a decent swordsman as a boy, but he’d neglected his training as soon as his father allowed it. After all, why does a king need to know how to fight if he has a skilled bodyguard protecting him?

Castiel didn’t necessarily agree with that line of thinking, but now that Dean’s safety was in the hands of someone  _ other _ than himself, for his own peace of mind he needed to know that Dean could at least defend himself should the worst happen. 

“Unless you’re going to allow me to remain your bodyguard—”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’ll have to keep practicing until you meet a minimal level of competency.”

Dean grit his teeth at that but tensed for the next round of sparring. Castiel resumed his own spot and with a nod they were at it. They went on and on, Dean obviously at a disadvantage and tiring quickly. He did manage to hit Castiel a few times and dodged a great number of attacks, but he failed to ever gain a true advantage. 

“Would you just… stand…  _ still _ …” Dean grunted as he struck Castiel’s sword again and again. On the last blow, Castiel could hear the wood crack a little. Before he could warn Dean, Dean swung again. Instinct had Castiel raising his own sword to block the blow, but the wood broke on contact. Castiel vaguely caught sight of a chunk flying towards him before his world went dark.

\- - - -

He woke up groggy and with his head throbbing. Castiel hissed in pain when he tried to move, hand automatically reaching to grab at his head. He felt bandages there, covering a good portion of his head; his left eye and ear were completely wrapped in gauze. 

“What happened?” he tried to blink his right eye open, but the light was dim and his vision swirled around him. 

“Cas!” The relief in Dean’s voice was palpable. Castiel reached blindly for his husband’s hand and squeezed it once he found it. “Thank the gods! I’ve been worried sick.”

“Didn’t answer my question.”

“My training sword broke apart and hit you in the temple. Luckily it missed your eye, but you were bleeding so much. You fell to the ground, wouldn’t wake up—” 

“Have you been crying?” he interrupted. Dean’s eyes were red and swollen, obvious tear tracks paving a way through the dirt on his face.

“I nearly killed my husband, of course I’ve been crying!” Though he tried to smile jokingly, Dean’s concern and distress was obvious.

“Pretty sure I’ve survived more skilled swordsmen than you,” Cas teased. 

Dean snorted. “Yet here we are, with you laid up in bed because of  _ me _ .”

“I should tell the northerners that was their mistake. They should’ve been using wooden swords and been terrible at fighting.”

“Hey!” Dean swatted him. Thankfully his smile appeared more genuine now. “They  _ were _ terrible, at least that’s how it looked from my vantage point. You blew through forty of them, didn’t you?”

“So I’m told.” With a deep sigh, Castiel settled back into the bed. He was in the barracks, that much was clear. If they were waiting until he felt better to move him, they’d have to wait another day at least. His head throbbed and he was exhausted. “If I fall asleep on you, you won’t be terribly offended, will you?”

“If you try to stay up on my account, I might be.” Dean leaned down and kissed Cas chastely on the lips, pulling away before Castiel had the chance to deepen it. “Does this mean I don’t have to do sword training anymore?” he asked hopefully. “I  _ did _ injure my instructor, after all. I’m a menace.”

“That you are.” Castiel tried and failed to hold back a yawn. “We’ll discuss it when I’m better, but I’d say odds aren’t in your favor.”

“Awww.” Dean’s pouting was adorable. He really wanted to tease him about it, but sleep was seconds away. “You rest, Cas. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

~~ Dean did  _ not _ get out of training. But he did get upgraded to a metal sword, just to prevent the same accident from happening again. ~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt from [red-queen7816](https://red-queen7816.tumblr.com/): Okay. For the timestamp-y goodness for My Liege My Lord. . . An assassination attempt on the King and his husband. Cas & Dean work together to take that guy out. I like to think it happens when Dean and Cas are away from the castle visiting the rest of the kingdom. Anyway, the attempt gets them all hot and bothered and possible nsfw ensues.
> 
> If you'd like to suggest timestamps, please send them to me VIA TUMBLR [@jhoomwrites](http://jhoomwrites.tumblr.com) or else I will completely forget about them.

Touring the kingdom was… _tedious_.

If Cas could remove himself from the situation, put a wall of distance between his life and where they were, he would probably have found the remote villages and castles charming. They _were_ charming, objectively speaking. The people were friendly, their accents slight but distinct, their customs only slightly off from the norm of Winchester as a whole but with twists that both puzzled and amused him, and their food was exquisite.

Yes, Castiel was quite sure that if he were here on vacation, he’d enjoy these trips.

He was _never_ on vacation.

First and foremost, he was still Head Knight of the King’s Guard. Technically, the role had been passed on to a young knight by the name of Jack. The northern boy had shown up at the castle one day seemingly out of nowhere, but he’d proven to be quite skilled despite his youth. Cas had reluctantly handed over his formal duties as bodyguard to his care, though even on his best days Cas couldn’t deny that he micromanaged the whole thing as much as Jack would allow.

For better or worse, Jack allowed a _lot_.

Castiel was constantly busy—in a pleasant, familiar sort of way—with guard and knight related duties. He was lucky to have an indulging husband who only teased him about it instead of actually stopping him; Dean knew Castiel well enough not to bother reeling him back in. _Especially_ when they traveled.

“It’s fine,” Dean would say dismissively. “We’re still _in_ Winchester. These are our people, Cas. Stop worrying so much.”

 _Our_ people reminded Cas of his other job on these trips: as co-king, he was expected to smile, be charming, and hear out petitions of noble people and common folk alike. He was reasonably confident he was terrible at all of these things (yes, even smiling; he just couldn’t do it on command without looking constipated). His years at the castle had given him ample opportunity to _watch_ as Dean performed his kingly duties, but he himself had been required to do more than stand in the background and silently watch for danger.

He _missed_ those days. Things were simple.

 _And you were miserable,_ he’d remind himself. _Better to be a fish out of water king if it means having Dean._

Bracing himself for a long life as co-king with the love of his life, Castiel very much _tried_ to learn how to do everything required of him. It was a particularly good incentive that whenever he _did_ succeed, Dean rewarded him with that one particular smile that made Cas’ knees go weak.

The things he wouldn’t do to see that smile…

“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked, leaning over on his makeshift throne to whisper in Cas’ ear. They were at a fair in the northwest corridor of the country, enjoying a brief lull in their schedule before taking part in more festivities later.

Castiel’s cheeks flushed as he suppressed a shiver. Having Dean so close, his warm breath ghosting along his skin in place of a caress, it was distracting.

“I was thinking,” he said while licking his lips and meeting Dean’s eye, “that I like seeing you smile.”

“Yeah?” And there it was, that radiant smile that Cas had fallen in love with when they were boys. Back before Castiel even understood that he _had_ fallen in love. “Luckily, I have an endless supply of smiles just for you.”

Dean had always flirted with him. Castiel hadn’t been aware of it at the time, but now that he was, he wondered how he’d ever missed it.

“You’d better,” Castiel said. It took considerable concentration to suppress a smile of his own. “Or you’d be a _terrible_ husband.”

He was vaguely aware of a servant walking their way, a young man in worn clothes. He had a tray of wine, and Castiel reached out blindly to accept a cup; he simply could not take his eyes off of Dean, rude though it might be to the poor boy.

“You shouldn’t joke about such things,” Dean said with a low chuckle. “Or I’ll start to worry that I _am_ a terrible—”

Dean’s words cut off abruptly. Within a span of a second, his face morphed from open and joyful to serious and angry. Before Castiel could ask what was wrong, Dean lunged at him.

“Dean—?” he gasped as he was knocked out of his own throne and to the hard ground. But then Dean was standing above him, dagger in hand as he swung towards the serving boy.

Finally it clicked together, the world coming back into focus. The serving boy was wearing armor under his thin tunic and was brandishing a dagger of his own. Other men were rushing into the tent, all strangers to Castiel and all armed as they circled the two of them. The sound of shouts outside and Jack’s distinct call of “To the Kings!”

And Dean dueling with the serving boy.

Fuck.

Cas was on his feet, his own short sword in hand. Not two steps forward, and he’d run the boy through with the sword and tossed him at the next attacker. If he’d been paying more attention, they wouldn’t be in this mess, he cursed himself. But after years of training him, Dean was a competent fighter. Standing back to back, they fought.

It was a thing of beauty, watching Dean. The way his body moved, his brow furrowed in concentration and sweat starting to collect at his temples; the way his clothes clung to his body. No more than that; fighting _with_ Dean was marvelous. It reminded him vividly of the battle against the northern clans, though this time Dean wasn’t hiding behind his other guards to avoid the actual battle; he was right there in the thick of it. Out of necessity, perhaps, but that mattered very little right now.

In that moment, Castiel knew they’d be fine. That between the two of them, these men and women didn’t stand a chance.

The two of them managed to kill off or seriously injure their attackers within a few minutes, holding the last off until Jack and his men forced their way through.

“My Lords,” he breathed heavily, blood dripping off his armor. “I am so sorry—”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Castiel said harshly. Jack flinched, and Cas forced himself to take a deep breath. A hand on Jack’s shoulder, he said more gently, “I do not blame you. Clever assassins always find a way. You did well. We’ll just have to figure out how to make sure you do _better_.”

Jack nodded and began ordering the bodies to be cleaned up and any survivors questioned. He still looked crestfallen, but Cas was confident he would not let it affect his duty.

“Thank you,” Dean said to one of the guards. He’d offered Dean a kerchief to wipe the sweat and grime off his face. It hadn’t done much good, more rubbed it into his skin than off, but Cas didn’t mind.

In fact, he rather _liked_ the look of Dean, cheeks still flushed from the exertion and his body giving off more heat than usual when Cas took his place beside him. He’d liked a great many things about Dean’s body during the fight, now that he truly thought about it and had less adrenaline pumping through him. His form had been good, his attacks confident, his feet nimble as he dodged blows.

Awareness of how utterly gorgeous his husband was made Castiel shudder with desire. He think they’d earned a moment to themselves after surviving such an attack. Surely no one would mind if they disappeared for the rest of the afternoon and missed the jousting tournament…

Dean turned his way and caught the heated look Cas was giving him. Almost immediately, the green and gold of his eyes were all but invisible; all Castiel could see there was pupils blown wide with lust, a desire mirroring his own.

“Cas?” Dean asked huskily.

Years of being together meant neither had to actually _voice_ the question.

He made a show of eyeing Dean from head to foot before jerking his head towards the tent’s entrance. “Yes.”

Hands clasped together, they rushed through the throng of guards to their personal quarters at the edge of the fair grounds. They did not return for some time, though both looked to be in surprisingly good spirits for having dealt with an assassination attempt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ insert inappropriate joke about “jousting tournaments” here *waggles eyebrows* ]


End file.
